


The Ground Beneath Your Feet

by pasdexcuses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Curse Breaking, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-22 10:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6075582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdexcuses/pseuds/pasdexcuses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco knows a challenge when he sees one, and he comes so close, truly, so very close to telling Potter to sod off. But there’s something in the pit of his stomach that is keeping him from doing so. Something that is telling him Potter is right about the Manor. Right about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ground Beneath Your Feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyonessheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyonessheart/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Breathe into me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4853375) by [lyonessheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyonessheart/pseuds/lyonessheart). 



> This is a remix of lyonessheart's Breathe into me. Dear lyonessheart, I hope you enjoy this!

“I think we ought to work on the Manor,” Potter says.

Draco narrows his eyes at him. “Forgive me, Potter, but isn’t that exactly what you—what _I_ —have been doing?”

Potter shakes his head. “I don’t mean breaking curses. Even if you got rid of them all, I doubt the place will go back to its prior state.” He pauses for a moment, something hesitant on his face. “Look, I think in order to get this place back, we ought to put work into restoring what’s been broken.”

“Restore what’s been broken?” Draco parrots in disbelief. 

“Yes,” Potter replies. “Repaint the walls, plant new flowers in the gardens, repair the broken furniture, that sort of restoring.”

“Potter, I don’t believe you’re being paid to be our interior designer.”

Potter rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “Listen, the curses, the Manor being _moody_ or whatever, these are not the real problem.” He fixes Draco with a stare before adding, “The real problem is that you’re not taking care of this place, much like you’re not taking care of yourself.”

Draco stares at him for a moment, not sure he’s actually heard Potter right. It takes him a moment to recover from the shock but when he does, he makes sure he speaks in a carefully controlled tone. “You do not get to come here and tell me how to live my life.”

“You contacted me because you needed help. Well, this is my expert opinion, and if you don’t like it, just say the words and I’ll leave.”

Potter crosses his arms above his chest and waits. 

Draco knows a challenge when he sees one, and he comes so close, truly, so very close to telling Potter to sod off. But there’s something in the pit of his stomach that is keeping him from doing so. Something that is telling him Potter is right about the Manor. Right about them. 

“If you want to leave,” Draco says, “then by all means do so. Dinner will be served at seven. If you’re not there, I’ll assume you’re gone.”

He turns on his heel and heads straight for the privacy of his own room. 

 

Potter, to Draco’s surprise, shows up at the dining table a minute before seven. He greets Narcissa with a smile and nods very politely in Draco’s direction before taking his seat. 

It’s a credit to Narcissa’s powers of observation that she does not even attempt to lighten the mood with conversation. She does, however, pull Draco aside after their dinner is over.

Placing a delicate hand on Draco’s shoulder, she says, “Darling, I have no idea what tonight was about, but Mr Potter must stay. You understand me?”

To say Draco is displeased to hear this would be a terrible understatement. 

“Yes, Mother,” he says.

Narcissa pats him once on the shoulder. “Good.” 

 

The work is slow and exhausting, mostly because Potter insists on doing most of it without magic, which Draco fails to understand. They have a nasty row over it on a fine Tuesday morning after Draco accidentally pops a blister against a rusty nail. It doesn’t even hurt, it’s more the fact that he even has blisters that can be popped. It’s the fact that his wrists hurt and his fingernails have never been dirtier. He yells at Potter that morning, and Potter threatens to leave, again. 

It’s Narcissa who comes down the stairs, arms folded across her chest, looking rather unimpressed at the pair of them. 

“Sorry, Mrs. Malfoy,” Potter says.

It’s the last time Draco has to do any actual manual work within the house, so he counts the whole episode as a win for him, even though he does feel like a reprimanded schoolboy in the face of his mother’s absolute disapproval. 

He’s still not allowed to use magic in the garden, Merlin knows why. But even his mother seems to think that’s important, and Draco is not willing to insist just so Potter can throw knowing smirks at him when his own mother agrees with the enemy. 

Just the thought of the garden makes him so inexplicably tired. Because this whole business with the Manor has been an exercise in frustration but the issue with the roses has made him want to quit more than once. They’re his mother’s favourite, is the thing, so he’s tried. He has tried relentlessly to get the roses to bloom, to get their garden to look like a fraction of what it was before this whole mess started. But the stems keep drooping before the flower has fully formed, the thorns don’t look like thorns and the leaves go brown with ease. 

He sits in front of a patch, almost crying with the frustration of it all. And Potter, with his impeccable timing, finds him like that, hunched over a patch of dying red roses. 

“I brought you something else,” Potter says that morning. He’s holding three pots of a flower that Draco can’t quite identify from where he sits on the ground. He adds, “I reckon a change might be good.”

Standing up, Draco brushes dirt off his robes and takes the pots, tulips as it turns out, from Potter. They’re all a different colour, which Draco isn’t surprised by, considering how little sense of style Potter has. He even considers remarking upon it, but he can’t quite bring himself to do so, not when Potter’s eyes are shining green and gentle under the spring sky.

“Thank you,” he says instead.

Potter smiles, the sort of gesture Draco has rarely seen. “I’ve brought more but I couldn’t carry all of them.”

Draco rolls his eyes and says, “Because there is no spell on this earth that could’ve helped you with that.”

He doesn’t mean a lot by it. Mostly, he still has a residual petty anger from having to work all day at an enterprise that is very clearly failing. His stomach sinks the moment he watches Potter’s jaw set. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d approve,” Potter says by way of an explanation. “I’ll get Mippy to bring them over.” 

Draco wants to reach out as Potter turns his back, but he’s got an armful of tulips that are suddenly an unbearable weight on him. His breath catches for a second, and then Potter is walking away. 

Mippy brings over the rest of the tulips, which turn out to be more than Draco can plant in a single day. He finds a patch where the grass isn’t quite as brown and imagines what it would look like before getting started. He works all morning under the burning sun, digging his fingers in the earth. Dig, plant, rinse and repeat. 

 

The tulips aren’t as pretty as the roses. Their red is the wrong shade and something about them looks rather mundane. But their refusal to cave in and die under whatever it is that the Manor is under is a breath of fresh air. 

He’s out in the garden again – he always seems to be out in the garden these days – watching Potter and Teddy play, and he can’t help but wonder how Potter knew about the tulips. He’s thought about asking, ever since the flowers first gave signs of their refusal to perish. But there always seems to be some other matter to discuss. There is never a right time to have the sort of conversation that involves something as delicate as a flower. 

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” Potter says, startling Draco. His voice sounds far too close to Draco’s own ear. 

“It’s nothing,” Draco lies.

“Hmm.”

The grass Potter sits on looks the brightest of greens as Potter tears it from the ground. Draco makes a face at the gesture because even the grass has taken weeks to regrow. Potter doesn’t even notice, too busy watching Teddy pretending he’s some sort of bird. 

“What’s the matter?” Potter asks eventually, turning to face him. 

Potter’s eyes are always very bright when Teddy is around, Draco has noticed. 

Draco looks away. “Nothing.”

 

The tulips bloom as the days grow warmer and longer. They never smell like roses but there is something about seeing something grow in the midst of so much grey. Draco still hasn’t asked Potter how he knew about the flowers, and he wonders if he ever will. There seems to be no point in knowing the answer. Potter probably just thought they would look nice. 

And yet, he always almost asks, whenever Potter shoots him one of those curious glances of his. One of those stares that unsettle something deep in Draco’s bones. But then Potter quickly looks away, and Draco is left with the feeling of having stirred something that was best left to itself. He never asks. 

Sometimes, when the sky is particularly blue and Potter eyes cut through him as though Draco’s very being is as clear as water, he wonders whether it’s because he’s terribly afraid. 

 

Teddy is running around the garden, inspecting every little thing with a prism Narcissa found a few days ago. It used to be one of Draco’s toys, though he barely remembers it. It’s not magical now, and according to Narcissa, it never was. There was nothing special about it except the promise the vendor made when she sold it to the Malfoys. 

“You might even see a brand new world through it,” Narcissa told Teddy when she gave it to him, which was almost exactly what the vendor had told Lucius after he’d been convinced to buy it. 

Teddy, who was not above toys, magical or not, smiled wide at Narcissa that day. He’s been playing with the prism ever since. 

“What do you think he sees?” Potter asks him one day. 

Draco shrugs. “Probably, just the same things you see.”

Everything around him looks the same as it has for months, not even a pretty prism can change that. 

“I don’t think so,” Potter says. “I think he sees a lot more than you or I.”

Draco thinks Teddy is a kid, he probably imagines a lot more than any of them. That doesn’t mean any of it is real, doesn’t mean any of it is actually there to see. 

“I think,” Potter starts, licking his lips. He’s staring at Draco again, with those unwavering eyes of his. “I think when you stare at something every day, you tend to miss out on how time makes it change.”

“And what? I need a prism to see it brand new?”

Potter shakes his head, a lopsided grin on his face. “I was just thinking…” But he never quite finishes the thought. 

 

There is a single tulip among the lines that are blooming strong and bright, a single tulip that is the exact same red as a perfect rose. It’s Teddy who finds it and points at it, as he looks at it through his prism. Draco asks his mother whether she’d like to cut it and put it in a vase but she shakes her head.

“I don’t think we own any vase that could do it justice,” she says, which is a downright lie.

They own vases that could feed a family of four for years on end. But Draco thinks he understands what Narcissa means. 

 

It’s summer, the roses are still drooping, and the Manor is still rather grey. But there’s something different now, Draco can feel it in the air. Something fresh and sweet, like blooming flowers. 

 

The summer storm starts before lunch, as Draco is taking the new lilies Potter brought that morning out of their pots . He’s not a fan of the flower, but he keeps planting everything Potter brings him, mostly because they’re the only things that seem to grow. 

When the rain starts, he’s got his hands covered in dirt and a mess of flowers at his feet. He doesn’t even have time to pick up the lilies or his tools, as the rain pours down with vengeance on him. Everything he’s wearing ends up muddied as he runs back to the Manor. 

Using his wand to dry and clean his robes, Draco does his best not to scowl at the weather. It’s quite poor timing, as Draco had finally decided what to do with Potter’s lilies just ten seconds before the storm started. 

It’s really very inconvenient, he had the entire day planned out, now he won’t be able to get a single thing done. He feels bile rising in his throat, and suddenly, he’s so very angry. Because nothing is going his way, the manor seems like it’ll never be itself again, and he is so terribly tired. 

“Are you—” Potter says, startling Draco.

Potter stares at him, like he’s trying to figure something out. He stares like Draco is a clear picture he can see right through, stares like he’s been staring for the past few weeks.

“What is it,” Draco snaps. “Do I have something on my face?”

Before Potter can reply, Draco starts walking away. He really is not up to dealing with Potter and is considering shutting himself in his bedroom for the rest of the day when he feels himself being unceremoniously grabbed and pushed up against the nearest wall. 

Potter’s lips are on his before he can even say word. And then Potter slowly loosens his grip, like the kiss is all the release he’d been looking for. He moves his hand from Draco’s hip to Draco’s chin, and his touch is soft when he cups Draco’s face, when he rubs his thumb along Draco’s jaw. 

It’s quite enough to leave Draco breathless, quite enough to make his knees buckle. He stares at Potter’s green eyes, heart racing, just before he wraps his arms around Potter’s neck. 

Their second kiss is deeper, harder. It’s the perfect release he’s been looking for. 

 

After the rain, the patch of garden Draco was working on is a mess of mud and scattered lilies and gardening tools. He reckons it’s all ruined but Potter shakes his head.

“Come on, a little rain never did anyone any harm,” he says, smiling as he takes Draco’s hand to drag him outside. 

“A _little_ rain?” Draco asks, because a summer storm is anything but a little rain. 

Potter grins, face turned upward, where the sun has come out and the clouds are all gone. It’s the brightest blue.

Potter drags him by the hand all the way to the patch of the garden where the lilies are all scattered. He takes out his wand and starts arranging everything, never letting go of Draco’s hand. It makes Draco’s heart thump loudly in his chest. 

But, as Potter is working on rearranging everything in front of them, Draco suddenly can’t keep quiet anymore. He drops Potter’s hand abruptly. 

“How do you know this is going to work?” he asks.

And what he means is, how does Potter know exactly what to do to make things bloom in the Manor, how does he know just what to bring and what rooms to go to. How does he talk to the Manor when neither Draco nor Narcissa can. 

Potter licks his lips before replying, “I don’t.” He dries the ground with his wand some more before stopping to fix Draco with a stare. Then, he says rather honestly, “I just have faith.”

It’s probably the simplest, stupidest answer Potter could have given him, and it’s so very Potter that Draco doesn’t doubt it for a second. 

“Are you going to help or what?” Potter asks, throwing a gardening tool at Draco. 

It’s a good thing Draco still has good reflexes, because that thing could have easily taken out his eye. He tells Potter as much as he kneels to get to work. 

Potter’s laughter fills his ears with a sound that is so freeing that Draco feels something inside of him crack and release, and he can finally breathe. On impulse, he turns to face the Manor. It looks entirely different now that the rain has gone. 

It’s finally looking alive.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> * * *
> 
> The [fic link](http://hd-remix.tumblr.com/post/140691913479) and a [pull quote](http://hd-remix.tumblr.com/post/140710351027) have been cross-posted to **tumblr**. Help us promote the fest by liking and reblogging!
> 
> Comments are ♥. Leave them here or over on [LiveJournal](http://hd-remix.livejournal.com/95573.html).


End file.
